When he ceased she bent over her father in a
caressing fashion.
"He'd lose his bet. He surely would, daddy dear, wouldn't he? But we
really need to answer, don't we? He'd think we were both fools, else.
He wouldn't like it either. Say, daddy, shall--shall I talk?"
Bud chuckled comfortably.
"I'd hate to stop you, Nan."
Nan smiled contentedly, and raised a pair of challenging eyes in the
direction of the table.
"My daddy thinks I talk too much," she said. "But I s'pose that's my
way--most girls talk when they get the chance--just the same as it's
his way talking too little. But neither ways suggest a fool, Jeff.
And anyway the only sort of fool you need to worry with is the fool who
don't see and act in a way of his own. My daddy's acting in his own
way, and I guess it isn't his way, working overtime with the band
playing. If you're dead fixed on having a gamble, it's a new hat to a
new and less smelly pipe than you're smoking now, that he knows the
inside of this deal to the last cent's worth. But what's more, Jeff,
he knows you, and knows you couldn't 'hold-up' a Sunday-school kiddie
without going and telling its teacher first.
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